


a magnet and some tin snips

by placentalmammal



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Femslash February, Fluff, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 10:13:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9886982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: Moira's workshop is full of distractions. If Reilly wants to chat, they'll have to go somewhere else.





	

For as long as anyone could remember, Craterside Supply had smelled--faintly but persistently--of smoke and ozone. The odor was a product of Moira’s ‘scientific endeavors,’ the natural result of the experiments she conducted in her back room. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but it permeated everything: her wares, her clothing, the battered arrangement of silk flowers she kept by her bedside. Everything in Craterside Supply carried the faint tang of ash and plasma.

It wasn’t entirely her fault. Everyone in Megaton cooked and heated their homes with wood-burning stoves, and Craterside Supply had been an armory before it had become a general store. The smell was a holdover from the building’s past, a legacy from its previous owners. Moira only noticed it when she came home after a prolonged absence, at all other times, it was just background, like the hum of a diesel generator.

Reilly noticed it constantly. Whenever she passed through Megaton, she stopped in to visit her girlfriend, Moira, but she never adjusted to the stink the way the other woman had. It lingered on the forefront of her awareness like a discordant rhythm. Moira called it ‘scientific progress;’ Reilly called it ‘headache fuel.’

Whatever it was, it was enough of a distraction that Reilly couldn’t focus on anything else. Moira had been talking for three minutes, expounding on the technical details of her latest creation, and Reilly hadn’t heard a single word.

“Do you want to go out?” she said, interrupting Moira’s excitable, stream-of-conscious chatter. “Go get some fresh air, maybe?”

Moira blinked in surprise, her expression reflected in the polished hubcaps hanging from the ceiling. “Go out? Where?”

“Dunno,” said Reilly. “Moriarty’s? Brass Lantern?”

“Oh! When you said ‘go out,’ you meant ‘go out for dinner!’” She grinned, revealing a gold filling in her back teeth. “Well, sure! I’d love to. Just give me a minute to change and close up, and we can head out--”

“I’ll wait outside.” Before Moira could respond, Reilly ducked out through the door and closed it gently behind her.

It was cooler outside than in. There was a fine mist in the air and a definite chill on the breeze, early warning signs of the winter to come. Reilly pulled her hood up over her head and breathed in deep, filling her lungs with cool evening air. Despite the drizzle, the town center was bustling with activity: Confessor Cromwell and his flock, stray dogs, panhandlers, merchants and craftsmen too poor to afford permanent storefronts. The noise and smells of the crowd drifted up to Reilly as she waited, a patchwork of sensory information. The scent of tobacco and kerosene, Cromwell’s hoarse voice, the tang of diesel and body odor. The blend of sound and smell was less overwhelming than the one-note stink of Craterside Supply, and Reilly’s headache gradually dissipated.

Ten minutes later, Moira emerged, pink-cheeked and freshly scrubbed. She’d combed her hair and dressed in a fresh pair of coveralls, although there was still crud underneath her fingernails. Most notably, she’d pinned one of her silk roses to her collar and brought out another for Reilly. “For you!” she said grandly.

Reilly accepted her offering with a laugh and a kiss. “Thank you,” she said, tucking it behind her ear. “I love it!”

“It suits you,” said Moira earnestly. The rain beaded in her frizzy hair and dripped down her face, soaking her collar, but she didn’t seem to mind. Still smiling, she reached for Reilly’s hand and tugged her away from the railing. “Come on, I’m starving.”

Hand-in-hand, Reilly and Moira descended the creaking staircase into the center of town. Dusk fell early in Megaton; the city’s high walls blocked out most of the oblique evening sunlight. At night, the city was illuminated by string lights and kerosene lanterns, paid for and maintained by Manya Vargas. The lamplighters had already been through and the town center was filled with warm, steady light. The golden glow of the kerosene lanterns softened the edges of Moira’s features and brought out the red in her auburn hair. She was beautiful in that moment, and Reilly couldn’t resist stealing another kiss.

Laughing, Moira pulled out of her grasp. “Hey, you’d better save something for after dinner!” she teased. “I don’t want you getting all kissed out and sleepy on me.”

“Not likely,” said Reilly. She stepped down off the gantry and into the muddy street. Together, she and Moira wove their way through the crowd, toward the Brass Lantern’s familiar neon sign. Reilly had never learned to read hànzì, but according to Moira, it said something like ‘Ming family restaurant.’ She had no idea who the Mings were or how the Stahls had come into possession of the bar, but she was grateful to have an alternative to Moriarity’s. It was nice to be able to get a decent meal without the fucker breathing down her neck.

Inside the Brass Lantern, it was warm and dry and the air was thick with the smell of tobacco smoke and fryer grease. Moira and Reilly found a table in the back, close to the kitchen, and placed their orders with Jenny. They talked while they waited, chatting about current events and Moira’s latest project: The Wasteland Survival Guide.

“It’s a book, at least for now,” she said, talking fast and flapping her hands. “But I think there’s a lot of potential there! It could be a series, or even a magazine--”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. Reilly leaned forward in her seat, eager for every word. “It’s brilliant,” she said. “Every day, I see people out there who’ve got no idea what they’re up against. Moira, your book could save lives--”

“Do you really think so?” said Moira, cheeks reddening. “Everyone keeps telling me I’m crazy.”

Reily scoffed. “What do they know? They haven’t been out there. I have, and I’m telling you: write your book. With the Brotherhood creeping in, we need it now more than ever.”

“Thank you,” said Moira quietly. “I’d almost talked myself out of it. But if you think it’s a good idea--”

“It’s a _great_ idea,” Reilly interrupted.

“--then I’ll do it, no matter what.” Moira smiled again, and there was a glint of iron in her eyes: a flash of pure resolve like lightning through the rain. It put Reilly in mind of an old story about a key and a kite, and she wondered if this was how everyone felt about genius. She could practically see the gears turning inside the other woman’s head, hear the hum of her brilliant mind.

She returned Moira’s smile and reached across the table for her hand. “You’re going to save the world, babe,” she said softly. “I can feel it.”

“If I do,” said Moira, “it’s only because I had you to back me up.”

Reilly grinned. “I’ll settle for co-author credit and fifty percent of the royalties.”

It wasn’t much of a joke, but Moira laughed anyway. “I still have to write it,” she said. “It’s going to be a lot of work, and there’s a lot of ground to cover, but if I start now, I could have it finished by this time next year.”

Still smiling, Reilly brought the other woman’s hand to her mouth and kissed her scarred knuckles. “I’ll bet you five caps you’ve got it done by January.”

“It’ll take longer than that! I need a research assistant, for starters.” She paused thoughtfully. “And a press, and paper, and a way to distribute it--”

“One thing at a time,” said Reilly gently. “Get it written, and everything else will fall into place.”

“Of course,” said Moira, squeezing her hand. Her grip, like the rest of her, was deceptively strong. “And you’ll be there to help.”

“Every step of the way,” Reilly agreed, running her thumb across Moira’s knuckles, tracing the constellation of freckles on the back of her hand. “You and me. Together.”

Moira’s smile broadened. “Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Choco for betaing! Title taken from [one of my all-time favorite songs](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U13DaFJq8ls)!


End file.
